


The Bride and The Prince

by DefineWeird



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU: No chronological events respected, Blood, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Multi, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefineWeird/pseuds/DefineWeird
Summary: Thorin can't wait for his turn to marry the Elvenking.





	The Bride and The Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Helluh  
> I'm into Thorinduil right now and that's one of the ideas I worked out:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin can't wait for his turn to marry the Elvenking.

    He gazed upon his father, his eyes widening in marvel and awe, sparkles glimmering in them, his mouth slightly ajar. Thráin II of his name wore what was possibly the most beautiful armour that must have taken a very, _very_ long time to be made. It was of pure gold and black coal coloured leather, all its details were meticulously carved, all more or less triangle-ish due to being dwarven-made, which was a very specific style. Underneath the new King wore a dark iron chainmail that ended below his knees in thick —and again, _triangle-ish_ — spikes. His boots were covered by gold, so were his arms. But most importantly, his head was adorned with the King of Erebor's traditional crown, _his_ crown now, shaped like two eagles charging down against each other and barely touching at the center in between Thráin's eyebrows. His now kingly shoulders bore a fur coat with pride, decorated by golden armatures.  
He wore his late father's armour. Thror's armour.  
   The one he had worn at his first wedding, at the second once he had been crowned King, and the one he'd worn in many battles. Thorin was left breathless at the sight of his father, thinking that one day, he would be wearing that same regal honor. Only, he didn't want to be burdened with such responsibilities yet. And he certainly did not want his father to die the way his grandfather had... But Thror'd had the luck of living his life at the side of the traditional bride that all his male descendants would marry, and whose own father had also been married. The entire Durín lineage would have him. This bride was to be passed on to the new King, and after Thorin would have children and Thráin would die, to the current Prince of Erebor.  
   And for as much as the Dwarven Prince could afford to never lay his eyes on the armour again, he could not make a pass on keeping the bride for him, as his own and forever. The bride was an elf. And this elf in particular was worth more than all the jewels the Prince had ever laid eyes on. His ethereal beauty shone like the silver moonlight, the pale skin glowing, reflecting any light it could catch, the pale creamy blond, almost white hair descending right to a perfect pair of enchanting hips... This body... This body of which's chest was lean, but toned with elegant muscles, and yet a graceful figure from head to toe, long limbs for the legs and arms, and the hands which -even if somewhat a little calloused from being that of a warrior- were also refined and begging to be held and courted like those of a King.  
   But his face was probably the bride's most characteristic, authentic feature. Two thick, but trimmed and brushed eyebrows slightly curved at the end, a bit like an owl's rested there above his eyes, in two dark black patters. They made the beautiful godlike face look more defined and strong. The unwelcoming, icy eyes only helped with that, being of an icy, cold, calculating and withdrawn blue that was said to freeze anyone if they looked directly in it, but also decorated with long, black doe's lashes, making this strong look somewhat a bit softer and even more interesting to observe.  
   Thorin had touched himself thinking of that pretty face around him almost every night since he had first started to ever touch himself, mumbling, sometimes moaning one gorgeous name as he climaxed... Sinful youth. But he wasn't too concerned... After all, the elf was a one-of-a-kind beauty..  
Below the features of his two icy irises were some high cheekbones and even lower, red, slightly plump lips. A long, elegant nose and a pair of pointed ears that worked for the best, helping to support a delicate, but fierce and dangerous crown of wooden spikes and red autumn leaves that matched every one of the bride's exuberant robes of often silver, red, black and adorned with minuscule, precise and delicate shapes and adornments.  
   An elf's clothing.  
But today, as the bride walked up to the throne where the new King sat, waiting, the robe he wore was as it always had been since his first marriage with a Dwarfking, white like it was made of the purest starlight, kept clean and whole even with the time that had passed by, too long to see underneath it the elegant, up to mid-thigh boots -mid-thigh solely for kinky purposes- and hairless, beautiful legs -much like the rest of the bride's body, it was detailed, breathtaking lacework. From the elf's hips, the robe bloated around the nice legs and on a powerful but fragile chest on which remained only the lacework moving up to a delicious, very smooth-looking neck, opening on the soft back and continuing onto strong but feminine arms and hands.  
   The crown was not the same as it always was either. It was shaped in the same spiky, haughty way, but this time the leaves were replaced by white gems, and, attached to the crown was a lace and white, transparent-like silk veil flowing down the elf's hair to one lovely behind moving confidently as he proceeded towards the throne.  
Thorin's jaw dropped as he watched him walk straightforward and his heart started pounding in his chest, resulting in the Prince having to catch his breath at the beauty laid out before his eyes. Oh, he had always hated elves. All of them, except this one...  
  This one who even had a son but refused to make him continue the tradition himself, wanting him to be free even as the bride -the title that had been used for the elf fulfilling that function ever since the papers had been signed- carried on with the procedures of marrying creatures who didn't deserve the elf every bit as much as the elf deserved the best. Thorin knew it, he was in love. He had only ever felt love for this elf, ever since he had been old enough to know what love was. He had often then, peeked through the smallest keyholes to see what happened behind the impressive composures and the dignity of his grandfather and of the King's bride. And ever since that, he had wanted the elf. Like no other. Not any of the female or male dwarves were enough, not even the bodies they gave freely to a Prince like Thorin. Even just the memory of the elf's skin was more, the memory of even a brush of hands against each other's as they passed each other in tight hallways... The Prince always tried to make himself seem better-looking than he already was around the elf.  
   He was, in fact looking as handsome as he possibly could that day, but was still merely a Prince. This elf in front of his father had been more that that and for a far longer time than Thorin had even existed.  
   The Prince did not listen to a word that was said at the ceremony, only focusing on the bride's every move, on how Thráin took one hand and stood in front of the throne with the gorgeous creature, saying the vows required for these procedures. And then Thorin's pupils dilated even more as the bride spoke with the most fluid, soft but deep and charming voice... How he would love to have this same voice scream his name, the elf's body writhing in pleasure underneath the Prince as Thorin would lay between the most beautiful legs and mark this neck, kiss those lips...  
   The young dwarf's pants tightened and he groaned uncomfortably, but ignored his growing boner and cherished the view as the bride went on one knee to be face to face with the Dwarf, even slightly smaller, and let Thráin's hand bury itself in the great blond mane as the new King kissed the pretty, pliant lips. Too much of a soft kiss for a dwarf, but Thráin apparently knew how to treat a creature like this one. Thror, on the other hand, had been rough. The bride was used to hairy, stout and rough partners as much as gentle ones. They had all been somewhat different in a way. But the one thing that had not changed, was that the elf submitted a perfect body to the dwarf King's will every time.  
   Thorin couldn't lie to himself; he had been on the edge of _murdering_ his own _kin_ to bring himself closer to the creature driving him mad with love, need, lust.  
He was standing close by, watching the moment, and remembered when he had heard his grandfather whisper words that had seemed strange to him before, though now he understood them. 'Your family pledged itself to mine after your father betrayed us. It seems it was worth it, if I am to have you at my bedside whenever I want it when you're here... And I swear it upon the gods, I shall make you mine. Mind, body and soul. I will possess you...'  
   Thorin knew the story of how the current bride's father had betrayed Durín's line, and knew this agreement to marry the two families until the end of eternity was extreme, but did he care? He chose not to. If he was to have the subject of all his thoughts, musings and obsession at his side and ready to do his bidding, he shouldn't care. And although he thought to himself that he wouldn't be like his grandfather or any before and would not enslave the elf into doing whatever he wanted in bed, deep down he knew that it was a lie. If it was up to the bride to choose, never in this elf's life would this creature still be pledged to such a life. Thorin would always have to force himself upon him, in a way...  
   Until two months after the wedding. Then the elf would go back to Mirkwood for two other months, then come back... but no law forbid the dwarf King to visit the bride in Mirkwood and even there the dwarf had all the power.  
It was unfair, but it was the kind of unfair that Thorin couldn't bring himself to mind, even for as much as he wanted to feel good about himself, and that wasn't so much.  
His grandfather's words to the bride echoed in his head, right before his attention focused on his father's ones. They all had to say words, resume what they would do.  
"Your beauty is of equal value as that of the Arkenstone, if not more... I shall cherish you for my whole life and treasure you like my most precious jewel..."  
  The bride seemed empty. The words didn't touch this creature anymore. The abuses, or the softness, it would only last two months. Then two months of rest would follow, if the elf didn't get pregnant.  
Most Kings had tried to get the bride to carry their child -all of them. None had succeeded and they had never understood why. The elf had been checked by the healers, and children  _were_ possible, but elves could somehow control the fertilisation -or so Thorin had heard. They could choose to get impregnated or not. And the Prince was ambitious. He wanted to make this elf carry a life for him. He wanted a body he could play with, he wanted a mind to love him as much as he himself loved the bride, he wanted the elf to want him, want a child with him... It was a lot to ask from an elf paying such a high pice for a father's mistake.  
   The old dwarf who had married them -Balin, was it?- pronounced the last few lyrics of the ceremony before the feast could start.  
"Thráin II, King of Erebor, and Thranduil Oropherion, King of Mirkwood, you are thereby united under the Gods' witness till death pulls you apart."

And it always did.

 

 

* * *

 

 

   Thorin roughly locked the door of a random room he had hid inside. He needed space, he needed air. He couldn't bear to even look at his father anymore. All the softness the King had promised had turned to ashes the moment he had pulled the elf in his lap and tongue-lashed him freely without caring that he was around a dining table, or surrounded by hungry, lustful dwarves. He had even proceeded to taking the Elvenking right there, paying no mind to the cheers and to his son having left in utter shock.  
   The Prince hadn't wanted to see more, even though he was himself lusting after the elf, because he couldn't watch such a humiliating scene. And he had never thought his father would do something like this, even with his bride, their enemy's son, still dressed of the beautiful robe. Thror had done worse, of course... He had shared Thranduil as though he was a mere, lowly servant, with the plain, flat excuse of that Oropher had betrayed the dwarves, and he had asked for Thranduil to beg for the dwarves to take him like a wanton whore. Thorin both hated this and was a little turned on by it... He wanted to throw up. His erection was still twitching in his pants, and he quickly entered the bathroom, which suspiciously didn't look like his own.  
   There, he languidly stroked his hardened member in the shower with the same elf on his mind, eyes closed, picturing nice, wide open legs and the passionate look on Thranduil's face when the dwarf would start fucking him —no, rather *making love* to him— on the bed. Yes. He would make love to him... In bed, underneath the blankets... He would let him top and ride him at the pace that _he_  would choose, would let _him_ set the rhythm, let _him_  take control...  
   Thorin moved his hand up and down as fast as he could. He was already as hard as the lonely mountain could possibly get and a few more seconds of Thranduil's face as an orgasmic bliss would pass through the elf's body were enough. Climaxing all over the wall, he moaned as an image of Thranduil looking up at him while he used those pretty lips between the Prince's legs  worked its way in the corrupted, young mind.  
   The stone floor felt cold as Thorin stepped out of the bathroom, dry, safe for his hair. He had only put shirt and pants back on and nothing else after his well-deserved shower and now he made his way to the king sized bed, forgetting that this was not his room. He was tired, exhausted even. He'd stayed at the table for a long time, for the sake of good ale, food, and the feast until his father had humiliated Thranduil... The elf had stayed silent and stoic the whole time, sitting straight and eating as elves did, with a fork and a knife, with little mouthfuls of food. He had been the only one.  
   Thorin sighed and laid down in the bed, closing his eyes and hugging one of the pillows close to his chest, imagining that this was Thranduil. A little smile tugged at his lips and a few seconds later, he was sleeping.

 

 

* * *

 

 

   The supposedly locked door opened violently and Thorin woke up in time to fall onto the hard floor and roll underneath the bed as he heard a low groan and some whimpers.  
"Please..." The voice sounded a little weaker than it had earlier, on the verge of just giving up. From where he was hidden, Thorin only discerned one pair of legs. Thráin was most likely still holding Thranduil around him.  
"Find a better use for that pretty mouth o' yers..."  
He sounded so drunk...  
   Thráin put Thranduil down, holding him in his lap and undoing his pants with one clumsy hand. Thorin had a good view on the whole scene, the tears that streamed down the elf's face, his father's pride standing between his legs before Thranduil's wet, self-lubricated orifice which the elf could not control, awaiting, one of his hands in a fist in the beautiful mane... Thranduil was still wearing his robe. He was about to protest, pushing against the dwarf's strong arms with his hands forcefully before a hard cock was shoved all the way into him until the King's balls pressed against Thranduil's ass and he hit the elf's prostate.  
   The Elvenking let out a loud whining noise and tried to pull away immediately but was held down and cried pitifully as the new King of Erebor set a disturbingly fast pace to his thrusts. Thranduil was doing everything he could to free himself, and Thorin knew he should do something, he had to save the elf... But that would mean choosing him over his father... Besides, the Prince was probably a bit drunk himself, at least enough to think of the fact that his father would probably not remember anything from this evening but that he certainly would...  
   Thranduil's cries and pained noises made him sick but then he heard a low moan and a gasp. A second later, the bed cracked a little and Thorin's eyes widened as he quickly rolled out from underneath it. He could see on the bed his father's hips grinding hard against a panting, mess of an elf. Thráin himself was moaning and grunting like a beast, taking pleasure in his bride's pain and discomfort. He kept the elf firmly pinned under him and it didn't last long before he came squirting an incredible load of seed inside his elf, growling and dropping, limp, on top of a shaking, sniffling and full Elvenking.  
   Thranduil was not drunk at all and had to be regretting this particular fact at the moment. Thorin slowly stood up when his father showed no sign of being awake and the sniffling stopped instantly, blue and red, tired eyes on the Prince. The elf's chest was still heaving fast despite having to suffer the weight of the new King and the robes he hadn't cared about taking off. Thorin admired Thranduil's beauty for a moment, slowly climbing on the bed and stroking one strand of his magical hair.  
   He then remembered why he had initially gotten on the bed and rolled his father gently on the side. Thranduil had had enough time to regain his composure and had sat up, not caring about his nudity for now and his slightly spread legs and bent knees like Thráin had left him before passing out.Thorin's eyes lingered on the chest, the thighs, the neck and then in between his legs.      Thorin caught his breath. The Elvenking was so deliciously big but the best was his puckered, red and stretched little hole that looked so tasty... He really was perfect. The Prince wondered how his insides would feel...  
"G-Get out..." Begged one frightened, repulsed elf, recoiling against the headboard.  
   Thorin blushed -for some reason, and apologised to the golden creature. He noticed the blood between the elf's legs and his eyes widened.  
"I'm so sorry, I just-"  
"Get out."  
   The dwarf frowned and looked at the elf. "But you need help," he motioned to the elf's behind who quickly closed his legs, "I-"  
"Leave, _please_..."  
   Thorin growled.  
"Would you let me finish?!" The Prince's tone surprised the elf a little. "I'm sorry for what happened, and I'm sorry I didn't help you sooner..." He said softly, half-whispering so he had no chance of waking Thráin.  
"I'm used to it... I do _not_ need your help."  
Thorin still found the elf stunning, even as he curled up in fear like this. Which the Prince could understand, in truth, after what he had went through.  
"But you were crying, and-"  
"Get out!" Thorin didn't want to. He hadn't seen someone cry like that, in pure fear and pain in a long time. Thranduil needed help, and a healer. "This wound means _nothing_ to me! Just the same one reopening at every wedding night..." The elf answered, averting his eyes. "Do you have _any_  idea of how old I am...?"  
   Thorin thought for a second and was about to answer something but the elf dismissed the answer, knowing it wouldn't be right.  
"I am seven thousand, one hundred and fifty-nine years old. I have a _son_ , who turned two thousand years old two weeks ago, I was married about five times every thousand years and I have been fucked by your whole lineage..." His voice was shaking and his body was trembling. He still feared that Thorin would hurt him too. "My father never bore this burden, unlike many would think. He found it best for me to start. My father was cruel, but your whole line is full of rapists, brutes, of stinky, careless beasts..." His eyes were watery. "And you think I, the Great Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen, need your help for the billionth night I share with a heartless monster?"  
   The Prince felt ashamed. But the elf was obviously right about those facts... Thorin lost himself in the King's features. He was so attractive when he was so helpless and miserable... He just wanted to pin him down and scare him a little before kissing him tenderly and taking his huge member in his own mouth, making him feel good...  
   Thranduil noticed Thorin's growing erection.  
He shivered.  
"What a goodsavior you make, lusting after an elf who has been so thoroughly raped, wedded to a _pig_ and a _liar_ this very night..." Thranduil tried to keep his voice down too, although it was breaking, meaning to keep his new husband asleep for as long as he could.  Thorin's smile turned into a sly grin.  
"So I am your savior?"  
   The elf laughed nervously. The Prince scowled and shrugged.  
"You're not getting my point, dwarf. How can you be so selfish? How can you dwarves always be so  _selfish_?"  
   Thorin frowned. Thranduil moved on all fours, pushing the Prince down on the bed, going mad but thinking he would be safe if he had the Prince below him. "Have any of you ever thought my father had his own reasons to betray you the way he did? Did any of you think about us?!" He was still whispering, harshly, in Thorin's face. "Of course not. You only care about yourselves, serving every single one of the dirty, mindless rapists you call Kings!"  
   The Prince was starting to get pissed off and growled in Thranduil's face, which resulted in the Elvenking's eyes widening in fear for a second. His family had done an awful thing, and the Kings of Erebor had indeed abused of the elf. But this was still his family, his kingdom that the elf insulted.Thranduil didn't care at all. And he was certainly not the innocent little flower Thorin would've thought him to be.  
"We had our reasons too."  
The elf laughed madly. "How could _you_  know? _You_  weren't there. _I_ was. You are young. I shouldn't expect more of you than to defend your lineage..."  
   That was too much. Thranduil was pressing a lot of buttons, although still freezing each time he felt Thráin move and almost pulling away when Thorin growled. The elf gazed at the Prince's erection and shivered.  
"Y-you... Are you going to rape me like your father did? You are going to manipulate me, trick me into falling in love with you, because of how nice you'll be to me, aren't you... And then let me rot once you will have found someone more fit to your disgusting needs... Let me reassure you, dwarf, that this _will_ _not_  happen. Not again"  
   The Prince was confused. Had someone done that to him before? Thranduil seemed like a caged animal trying to find a good moment to escape. Thorin didn't want him to. He trapped the elf, looking at the new dwarf King and gasped, faking surprise and Thranduil turned around to look, squeaking in apprehension. In one swift move, Thorin freed his wrists, slapped Thranduil hard in the face and pushed him onto the ground. He sat on top of him and held his wrists above his head.  
"Says the bride wearing a wedding dress and shitting his panties at the mere sight of my father..." Thorin simply stated. Thranduil was about to answer something, his cheek hurting a little and reddening, but a pair of surprisingly soft lips crashed against his, hands tied his wrists to a foot of the bed skillfully and caressed his neck, chest and hips like he had done it his whole life. Thranduil gasped and tried to free himself without making too much sounds, still aware of the dwarf King's presence. He was starting to feel really sick, surrounded by dwarves in his mind, pinned by a dwarf of his previous rapists' lineage.  
   Thorin pulled back slightly. "I may be young, but I am stubborn. I do touch myself thinking of you. I am not ashamed of it; you are a beautiful creature. Age and time didn't leave a mark on you, you are as gorgeous as an angel. I think about you every single night... I do. Is it wrong? Tell me, does it bother you so to have someone appreciate you _that_ much? I do _love_ you, Thranduil. I am in _love_ with you. I have _been_ in love with you for years and it won't change. Whatever you do, whatever you say about my family, I don't care. You have good reasons to hate them, I have my reasons to want you."  
   He whispered in Thranduil's ear as the elf, too shocked to answer, simply stared at him. His heartbeat was racing.  
"I love you. And now that I know you a bit, I only love you more."  
   Thranduil whimpered.  
"N-No one has ever loved me. Y-You don't _love_ me. None of those Kings truly ever loved me, n-neither did my 'wife'... Since she never existed." Thorin studied Thranduil's face closely. His eyes were a little red, watery... Was he going to cry again? For real this time? "I made her up when I let o-one of you... When I let one of you gift me Legolas, m-my son... The only dwarf of your lineage that I ever loved, two thousand years ago." Why was he telling the Prince all that? "H-He was the first dwarf of your line and the last I ever took a liking to. He always took such good _care_ of me, kissing me tenderly all the t-time, making _love_ to me at night, purring sweet w-words in my ears, buying me gifts... And I fell in love with him. And was with child a few days later... I al-llowed him to have a child w-with me! And when I told him about it, and about my love for him, do you know what he did?! He laughed in my face. I should have known..." Was the elf just buying time so the Prince wouldn't do anything to him? Thorin found that he didn't care. He wanted to listen to the rather tragic story. "He had been distant for a few days... Because he had been s-seeing someone. A woman. And he cared little for an elf's bastard..." Those were definitely tears in the elf's eyes and his voice was choking on words as he spoke. Thorin felt awful for Thranduil, but that didn't lessen his burning need. "He t-took me to a room, where some friends of his were... He tossed me in like... like I was _nothing_  at their feet, after all t-this time, and allowed them to treat me as they pleased, told them he did not need me anymore, that he would soon marry someone else. He was the only dwarf who had n-never had a wife before me and had never had a s-son before marrying me... That's why I thought... I thought he would want m-mine..."  
   Thranduil inhaled sharply to avoid crying, and Thorin looked down at him. He was such an interesting creature... But this story pained the dwarf's heart. So there was more to this hate towards his lineage than just the marriages.  
"You do not love me... He told me he loved me every night, it didn't make it tru-" He was cut of by a soft, chaste but tender kiss and he squirmed in fear, his skin turning very, very pale.  
"Shut up, would you?" Thorin whispered softly against his lips. "I will prove it to you... prove that I love you... Let me prove it to you now..."  
   Thranduil started sobbing again, tears rolling down his cheeks as Thorin spread his legs and kissed him hard on the mouth, pulling up Thranduil's robe and smiling.  
"Mmh... So delicious..."  
   Choking on another sob, the Elvenking shuddered and tried to close his legs but he was overstrained by his earlier rapes and couldn't manage anymore.  
The dried blood around his entrance excited the dwarf, more than he wanted to admit, and he pushed inside him with all his strength, meaning to make it bleed even more so. He wanted the elf vulnerable, frightened under him...  
   Thranduil screamed at the intrusion, blood starting to pool around both their hips again. Thorin wanted to hold the elf close. He untied him and sat him in his lap, still holding his arms. The pain was too much for Thranduil to even proceed that and he let the dwarf's mouth run all over his body, let one of his hands stroke his length, neither of the two aware of the fact that Thranduil's scream had awakened Thráin.  
   Thorin sucked on Thranduil's neck, leaving bite marks, hickeys, claiming him. He let his hands roam around freely, enjoying the view of the white robe's colour starting to redden as he dropped it in the blood. He moaned and grinned madly, bucking his hips hard and fast, not once leaving enough time for the elf to try to breathe normally or to adjust to the monstrous size of a dwarf's cock.  
   Thorin gasped as he saw his father kneeling behind Thranduil, smirking madly and he then smirked at what he was about to do. Thranduil looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened in so much fear.  
" _NO! PLEASE! HAVE MERCY!_ "  
   He didn't have enough voice or tears but still managed to cry his heart out and to scream at the top of his lungs when the King spread his ass cheeks to fit in his own cock. The bleeding, the stretching, the pain... Thranduil's only relief was to be assured that his son would _never_ in his life have to endure this.  
   And Thorin's only concern was not to take care of the King anymore, to pamper him, 'cherish him', as his own father had promised. He understood his lineage's story, how easily they had all been attracted to the elf, why they had done what they had done.  
"That's for what your father did to us..."  
Thranduil barely listened and passed out when he felt cum fill him along with the blood he had just spent, from both grunting dwarves taking him so brutally after both of their promises to take care of the elf were shattered in a thousand pieces.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^' I corrected it the best I could...  
> I have to apologise to Nerwen though because I promised a second part and am still not done with it...  
> Also am working on a story at the moment :P


End file.
